


The Perfect Death

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blood, Death, M/M, idk - Freeform, some fluff?, this is very old - why did I not post this sooner?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you were to die, the exact way you wanted to, how would you want to die, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the edge of his desk, eyes glued to his screen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Death

"If you were to die, the exact way you wanted to, how would you want to die, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the edge of his desk, eyes glued to his screen. Reese looked up from the book he’d grabbed from the shelve to diffusion the tension from their latest argument. Hey, perfect couples don’t exist. The taller man actually had to think about the random question, a crease forming along his forehead as he put thought into it.

Death happened so fast, it wasn’t something you hoped for, well, now that he had Harold. Closing the book, he tried to think about it, I mean, how do you think about the unthinkable? He’d been put into so many situations, so many scenarios where it could have gone a lot worse, but he’s always pulled through.

Finch seemed amused, looking at Reese with a raised brow, lips turned up in a tight smile. “Well?” He inquired, pushing himself away from the desk, the wheels on the chair gliding easily against the floor boards.   
Reese flashed a smirk, crossing his arms as he watched Finch struggle to get out of the chair.

"Hm… that’s an _interesting_ question, Finch. Planning to kill me?" He drawled out, stepping up behind the shorter male, hands resting on Finch’s elbows. The paler raised a brow, but didn’t move away from it, long used to Johns simple touches.

"I would never, Mr. Reese. I was just… curious." Finch nodded quickly, glancing back to the numbers on the board. Reese hummed next to his ear, and then pulled away.

"I want to die… being held by someone I love." He said finally watching Finch’s reaction, which was that of simply craning his head, as far as his injured neck would allow, and nodding at the comment. "What’s yours?" The ex-op found himself asking, the recluse sighed.

"It’s not sappy or anything… but I wish to be around a piano when I go, preferably." He spoke in a low whisper, looking back toward the list for the briefest moment.

"Interesting." Reese commented, bending low to nip Finch’s lips in a playful manor, wanting to lighten the mood, Harold merely chuckled, and responded.

-:-

"J-John…" Finch questioned eyes dull as he stared up at the moon, his back aching, but everything else seemed numb. There was a grunt beside him, a groan of pain as his greying partner coughed and rasped out.

"Yea?" His voice sounded broken, clogged, and for good reason; three shots to the chest tends to do that. Finch tried to smile, but it faltered.  He couldn’t see well, the thick frames being knocked off when he fell forward. His chest hurt, a small consonant pain, but the real pain was in his neck, he couldn’t get a good look. But he knew he must’ve been shot, just like Reese. There was blood, not a lot like in the movies, but still enough to be disastrous. It was spreading out from under Johns back, lacing through the old tile in the library, staining the random paper that fluttered the halls. Harold’s blood was mainly seeping into his jacket, being as he was lying on his chest, but the most was dripping out from under his neck, his purple tie turning black with the substance.

"Do you… Do you h-hear that?" John rasped, turning his head as he grinned weakly, his mouth tinged with red as his teeth briefly flashed. Finch swallowed a lump, only to end up hacking more congealed blood, his eyes drifting closed as he forced himself to listen out. It sounded almost like… piano music, wafting over the air through the opened door. It was slow, peaceful, and steady. It was hard to hear, sounded far away; the sound of traffic and his slow hammering heart was louder. But if he closed his eyes and relaxed as best able, the sound just whispered above the waves of pain.

Finch instinctively reached out, wrapping his numb fingers around Johns, their appendages twining together like a well-practiced dance. Harold gazed upon Reese once more, uttering his last words, “John, I-I’ll always love … love you…” He whispered, his hand becoming lag in Reese’s grip, John watched as the light began to die in those pale blue eyes.

"I k-know, Har…old." He muttered, blood dripping past his lips as his hand also became limp, their fingers still curled together. His vision collapsed, the darkness weaving through as his heart stopped, the last image he saw was his Finch. No matter how bloody or pale he’d gotten, it was still Finch.

Both got what they wanted.

The _perfect_ death.

**Author's Note:**

> I've totally forgotten to post this! Its rather old, but people seemed to like it over on tumblr, so why the heck not?
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed~


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